


Our Finn

by paytontanner



Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: All about Finn, Brothers, Coming of Age, Family, Finding your place, Finn Shelby - Freeform, Gypsy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-26
Updated: 2019-08-08
Packaged: 2020-07-20 14:23:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19993684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paytontanner/pseuds/paytontanner
Summary: Finn Shelby isn't his brothers and no matter what he tells himself that won't change. He escapes to the open-air and starry skies of the Birmingham countryside where he plays gypsy prince and horse whisperer. In town, he hustles the boys by the cut for the change in their pockets and sneaks in late at night after mugging the poshies with his Peaky mates. Finn Shelby doesn't know who he is, but he isn't his brothers. For now, that will have to be good enough.





	1. Chapter 1

Finn Shelby let the door shut behind him; today was not a day for school. 

He plucked the cigarette tin from his suit pocket, tapped it twice against his open palm, a move he had practiced meticulously in the mirror, and then lit one after resting it loosely between his lips. It was nowhere as smooth, thoughtless, or routine as his older brother, Tommy, but it was a respectable imitation. 

The smoke warmed his lungs. 

The streets of South Heath were busy this morning. Packed with factory workers, bustling housewives, and shopkeepers, Finn knew there were too many familiar faces to stay hidden. So, as was his habit, Finn disappeared. Stuffing his peaky hat into his back pocket, keeping his chin down, he swung lightly onto the back of a carriage and headed North. 

There were things to do this afternoon, but the morning was his. So, as he did most mornings he skipped school and headed to the cinema. Finn had seen almost every Western and Adventure film that had come to the small, run-down cinema in Small Heath. Unlike the loud chaos of his home, he could come to the almost always empty cinema and expect, quiet, calm, and peace. South Heath was far from perfect, but Finn thought this cinema came pretty close. 

“Oi!” Finn hollered, bouncing off the back of the carriage and jogging to follow Isiah Jesus as he walked into the cinema. “Wait up, lad!” 

“Thought I might catch you here,” Isiah grinned as both boys walked through the doors and past the ticketer who greeted them with a knowing nod. “Wednesday’s are bad for schooling, right?” 

Finn laughed and they found seats in the middle of the mostly empty theatre. An early Wednesday picture didn’t exactly draw in a large crowd. Plus, most people in Small Heath couldn’t afford to see a picture, especially not if it meant missing work. Isiah offered Finn a bag of popcorn he had snatched from some poor bloke’s hand as they walked in mid-showing of “Robin Hood.” 

Finn didn’t always skip school, just most days he could get away with it. Ada had made a rotten habit of walking him to the school doors ever since two years ago when they made it compulsory through age 14. Thankfully, his 15th birthday was 2 months away. He wasn’t sure that was going to stop Ada, she had all these rotten communist ideas about education in her head, but he would make sure to raise a loud argument about it. 

Lately, Freddie Thorne had been his new favourite person, despite what he knew his brothers would think, it meant Ada was around much less frequent in the mornings. Finn still left in time for school every morning, just in case Ada tumbled back in, but without her there as a watchdog, there was little reason to stay past morning attendance. 

Isiah elbowed him, pulling a flask out from inside his suit with a cheeky grin. He took a quick swig and passed it over to Finn who did the same. It burned down his throat, and he forced himself to swallow. Isiah, the preacher’s son, somehow got his hands on more alcohol than Finn could ever get away. Sometimes Finn thought Tommy marked the quantities on his liquor glasses just to make sure Finn wasn’t sneaking any behind his back. Or he had second-sight, which wouldn’t surprise him either. 

Finn shoved the flask back to Isiah as a body fell suddenly into the seat next to him. He was jostled forward as a heavy arm wrapped around his shoulders and flicked the cap off his head to the floor. 

“Impolite to be wearing caps in here. Ain’t you Peaky boys have any manners?” 

Finn groaned. Small Heath wasn’t big enough for all the Shelby boys. 

“John,” he sighed, pulling his brother’s arm off his shoulder and plucking his cap off the ground. “What do you want?” 

“Finn Shelby!” a high-pitched voice roared from the back of the cinema, sending the youngest boy’s head into his hands. 

Small Heath wasn’t big enough for his sister either. 

“You bloody told her?” Finn accused, elbowing his brother in the gut which only resulted in a throaty laugh. It was only yesterday that Finn had let slip to Arthur that he often skipped school for the cinema. That brother was loud in more ways than one. 

“Think I had any choice? Goin’ about the house screaming like a banshee about all your school books under your bed and promisin’ to ring your neck. Wouldn’t shut up about fuckin’ Marx all the way here.” 

Finn gaped at him. John blew up places, smashed people’s faces in with his bare knuckles, and had seen more men die, many by his own hands, then Finn could process. However, the huffing mad woman now standing at the end of the aisle with her hands thrown angrily on her hips was demanding things and his brother was powerless to it. What hope did Finn have?

“I can’t believe you told her.” 

“You better be getting right up out of that chair.” Ada had one finger pointed dangerously at him, her eyes glowing in irritation. “If you think I won’t drag you back to school by your ear, then you’re dead wrong, Finn Shelby.”

Finn groaned, throwing his head back in irritation. “Ada, c’mon, I’m too old for this. I’m a head taller than you!”

“Well, then,” she searched for an answer, knowing he wasn’t too old but might very well be too big for her anymore. She missed the Finn from the war. The innocent boy who chased after horses, or stayed overnight in the camps, and was no more trouble than chasing down after dark because he was playing too late with his mates. Then the boys came back. Suddenly, he couldn’t be fussed to bother with Ada or Polly or their mindings. Now, he was chasing after his brothers, disappearing for days, or blaming every ill-behaviour on behalf of the Peaky Blinders. 

Ada nodded her head decidedly, “Then I’ll have John do it.”

Finn turned on John, who looked amusingly at Ada, but her gaze remained firm, resolute. John cleared his throat and shrugged. 

“Jesus Christ,” Finn cursed, slapping his cap on his head and roughly pushing himself from his seat to storm down the aisle towards his sister. “I can’t have one day?” 

“You’ve not stayed past attendance for the last ten. I talked to Mr. Johnson, y’know. Said you slip out the back everytime he turns around. Might have Thomas put a bell on ya,” Ada threatened, taking quick steps to keep up with Finn’s angry strides as he stormed down the aisle. 

“Mr. Johnson told you?” Finn threw open the cinema doors. 

“Oi!” Ada caught up with him, tugging on his arm and forcing him to slow down. “I’m a Shelby too, you know!” 

Finn thought if she wasn’t then he probably wouldn’t have to bother with school much anymore. 

[ii] 

Finn had spent the rest of the day unhappily staring out the classroom window. Any other student would have gotten their hands caned until they swelled. Finn was lucky in that way; the headmaster wouldn’t dare lay a hand on a Shelby.

After school, Finn had met his mates down to the cut to play cards, betting all the change in his trousers until he could buy a new tin of cigarettes from the tobacconist. Finn had a habit for hustling until he doubled the changed in his pocket - his gypsy curse. It meant he had enough to pay off the tobacconist to sell it to him and enough to buy a fresh tin every other day. He stubbed one out on the brick outside before he shouldered open the door on Watery Lane. 

His aunt Polly was just setting down a hot roast on the table. 

“What a surprise,” she clipped, lifting the lid and bathing in a wisp of steam. “I thought I might have to call the coppers to receive your body from the cut.” 

Finn rolled his eyes, shrugging off his coat and hooking it on the wall. “Just with the boys, Pol.” 

“Yes, until your pockets were turned out, I’m sure,” she added ruefully.

A firm hand grabbed Finn’s shoulder until he was pulled roughly into a chair next to Arthur. “Leave the boy alone, Polly,” Arthur pulled him into his side, mussing his hair, sniffing in the heavy stench of cigarette smoke. “Boys a Shelby, alright.”

“That he is,” Polly tsked regretfully. 

Finn shoved Arthur away, pulling a plate towards him and cutting into the meat and potatoes. During the war it was only bread, lard, and potatoes. Now, since the boys had come back, it was meat every night and sweets from the cornershop whenever Finn could convince Arthur or Tommy to spare a shilling.   
“I’ve also heard you haven’t been to school since last Tuesday.” 

Finn gaped at her with a mouth full of food, “Ada’s reporting to you? Is nothing kept secret in this family?” He slammed his fork angrily on the table, and shot Arthur in angry glare. He had the decency to look guilty. “Shouldn’t Ada just be worryin’ about her own self? Seems she’s got enough trouble of her own without worrying about- ” 

“What’s going on with our Ada?” Arthur interjected, confused. 

Polly ignored him. Pausing to calmly bite into a forkful of potatoes. “Finn, you are to go to school every day.”

“Why?” Finn demanded, standing up from his chair, “It’s no good. Just filling me mind with nonsense I don’t need. I’d rather be-”

“Off in the fields, or the stables, or hustling boys out of their earnings by the cut? The gypsy in you might be strong, but believe me that my boot is harder, boy.” 

“I’ll be fifteen in two months anyway, Pol. No sense in -” 

The door slammed open at the point, the short, solid shadow of his brother Thomas lingered in the doorway before shrugging off his coat and coming to sit down at the head of the table. 

Finn stood standing, huffing, and trying to keep from taking his dinner plate and thrashing it against the wall. John was nearly off at war at Finn’s age, Tommy was thieving horses at the races, and Arthur was beating up coppers by the cut. His brothers were laying the groundwork for the Shelby Family business and the Peaky Blinders, so why didn’t Finn have the right to at least contribute to it? Instead, Finn was stuck in a schoolhouse, practicing arithmetic, and reciting poetry. He should be helping his brothers, joining the family business, and becoming the man that his brothers were becoming at his age. Not being a schoolboy. 

“What’s this noise about?” Tommy asked, pouring himself a glass of scotch and eyeing Finn. Somehow Tommy’s stare had the ability to make Finn feel like a little kid again. As if he was being scolded for knicking sweets or letting the fire go out. “Sit down, Finn.” 

Polly turned toward the infuriated boy. Raising an eyebrow at him expectantly. 

“C’mon, Finn. Take a seat now,” Arthur whispered, pulling him gently on the shoulder until he sat back down. “There’s a lad.”

The fire popped in the dimly lit kitchen. The warm, cosy room feeling like a box to Finn. He missed the open field of the camp. The stars, and fresh air, and away from the all-seeing eyes of his family. 

“Ada’s been making me go to school, Tommy. I’m nearly fifteen, and then it will no longer be compulsory.” He turned his gaze towards the table as Tommy’s blue, stoic eyes watched him carefully. “And I don’t think I should have to go, but Polly and Ada-” 

“Are making you?” 

“Yeah,” Finn nodded his head, looking up towards his brother. “Ada threatened to drag me back by my bloody ear this morning.” 

Arthur hid a chuckle with a gruff cough. 

“Good,” Tommy said, sipping slowly on his scotch. “You’ll start going to school -”

“But-,” Finn interjected excitedly. 

“Every day, Finn. No exceptions.” Tommy set his elbows on the table, leaning forward and pointing a finger at Finn. “And if you don’t, I’ll know. Then, when you get back home after messing about in the fields, or the tracks, or the cut, then I will thrash you, and the next day, with a sore arse and throbbing head, I will walk you back to school.” He leaned back, creaking the chair, and bringing a cigarette up to his lips to inhale slowly. “You understand, Finn?” 

Finn grew up tough. He trucked with the Birmingham boys, and fought in the schoolyard, and had grown up under the watchful eyes and heavy hands of his aunt Pol. One too many times he has wandered in just in time for dinner and Polly, wooden spoon in hand, had walloped him good and hard for disappearing for hours. So, when one of his brothers promised a beating, then Finn knew too well how happy he would be to avoid it. 

“Yes, Tommy. I understand.”


	2. Chapter Tw0

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Despite what Tommy has told him, Finn travels to a fortune-teller that he has heard rumours is staying with the Lee clam. Finn's not sure what he wanted to hear, but it wasn't this.

Finn went to school the next day. 

Tommy was at the table drinking tea and smoking a cigarette as he opened the front door. 

“Straight to school, then,” he had ordered, barely glancing at Finn over the morning paper.

“Yes, Tommy,” the boy had sighed, grabbing a slice of bread from the table and stalking towards the door. 

“Good lad.” 

So, Finn had walked directly to school and stayed there the whole day. If Tommy thought Finn didn’t notice the young men stationed outside the school doors, then he was as dense as he was controlling. 

After school, though, Finn disappeared to the edge of town. He had heard Polly muttering about the Boswells camping past the far pasture and Finn had his heart set on sitting down with them. He had only met them once, when he was much younger, before the war took the boys away. 

Tommy and John had let him tag along on horseback out to the field. Finn remembered the sprawling caravan of horses, tents, and vardos claiming ground in the tall grass near the river. It looked like home to Finn. Tommy had been looking for a woman, a fortune-teller who he had rumours of from town. He had disappeared with her for hours, leaving an unhappy John to babysit and Finn to wonder what his brother would need answers to. 

Tommy, as tight-lipped as ever, refused to share the mystic’s secrets with him or John, but the grim look on his usually smiling was face was enough to predict the news she had shared. John and him had rode home behind a spitting-mad Tommy who wandered into the pub when they got back into the city. Finn hadn’t seen him again until the next afternoon when he stumbled in dirty, bloodied, and reeking of booze. 

“Oi! Boy-o!” a man hollered, breaking Finn’s trance, “That’s not yours to be taking, son.” 

Finn quickly untied the reigns of the horse from the post it was secured to and gathered them in his hand. He could see the man starting to walk his way as he realised Finn’s intentions, so he tugged the horse behind him until it began galloping and he gathered the momentum to wrap his arms around its neck and swing over on to the horse’s back. 

“Fuckin’ hell!” the man cried, waving his hat at Finn as he ran after him in distress. “Thief! That’s a man lifeblood you’re stealin’!”

“I’ll bring it back,” Finn hollered back, racing forward down the muddy, wet path out of town. The horse jostled him up and down, and Finn loved it. He loved the feel of the strong animal underneath him, and the way he had to squint to guide a path through the darkening twilight, and how the crisp autumn air filled his lungs. 

Finn felt free, untethered, light. 

From afar, Finn could see the little blobs of bonfire light from the camp. As he got closer, he swung down from the horse, tying the reigns to a tree, and pulling his cap from his back pocket to adjust it on his head. Him and the Lee Clan were kin now, but it didn’t do any harm to also remind them that he was a Peaky boy. 

“Well, if it isn’t lil’ Finn Shelby,” a shadow mused, peeking out from the heavy curtains of a vardo and coming down to clasp Finn on the shoulder. “What’s it you’re doin’ around these parts, Peaky?” 

Finn couldn’t tell if that man was suspicious of him or not, but he certainly didn’t like being noted as the youngest Shelby. So, he spoke carefully to the dark-featured Gypsy. 

“I’m lookin’ for Lady Lavania. I heard she’s travelin’ with ya.”

“That she is. That she is. I’m not so sure where she’s at round here though, Mr. Shelby. Perhaps, if you come back -” 

“It’s Peaky business,” Finn lied, cutting the man off and searching the camp for any sign of her himself. “I’m on orders from Tommy.” 

“S’that right?” 

“Yeah,” Finn clipped, jutting his chin up and challenging the man to doubt his word. “That’s right. Now, are you goin’ to help me find her or she’d I just tell Tommy that he’ll have to do it himself in the mornin’?” 

The man didn’t immediately take the bait like Finn was hoping. Polly always says a gypsy can tell if a person’s straight or lying because there’s never been an honest one among them. Finn hoped she wasn’t right. 

“Okay, Mr. Shelby,” the man conceded slowly, taking a pipe from his vest and stuffing it with tobacco. “No need to drag Tommy out here, then. She’ll be right over here for ya’.” 

When the man turned to lead the way, Finn took a thankful breath that he hadn’t realised he was holding. He wasn’t sure if the man believed him, or he didn’t want to chance dealing with Tommy in the morning, but Finn was glad either way. 

The camp was mostly quiet; the gray, autumn sky looking to give way to rain kept the bonfires empty and the wagons full. The one Finn was directed to had curtains drawn, but a warm, yellow light seeped past the velvet and glowed against the deep reds, blues, and yellows of the intricately-detailed woodwork. 

“Someone to see ya, Lavania,” the man yelled, pulling back the curtain and nodding at Finn to enter. “Here on official business, by order of the Peaky Blinders.” The thick coating of sarcasm dripped from his words and sent a wave of irritation through Finn. Sure, Finn might be lying, but he was confident that Tommy would trust him to do such a thing if need be, right? Tommy trusted him. Finn could do dealings on behalf of the family without anyone doubting it as an absurdity. 

“Evening,” Finn muttered shortly, pulling the curtain shut behind him on the irritating gypsy man’s face. He pulled off his cap, and sat gruffly on the plushy cushion of the bench. “Here on Peaky business. I’m -” 

“Finn Shelby,” the woman finished for him, her dark eyes smoldering in the flicker of the candlelight. “Don’t lie to me, boy. I’m a fortune teller; I can tell.”

Finn swallowed, lowering his eyes, and hoping the women wouldn’t call his bluff and boot him out. He could feel his ears burning a deep red. 

“Now,” she continued, “Give me your palm.”

Finn wiped his hand on his trousers before thrusting it across the table to be clasped in her cool grip. She flipped his hand over, running a finger across the lines of his palm, and closing her eyes in concentration. 

The noise of the crickets and breeze of the night outside filled the silent cabin. 

“How old are you, boy?” 

“I’ll be 15 in November.”

She hummed in response. 

“You spend a lot of time on the horses,” she noted, running her hands along the rough calluses of his palm. “And too much gambling by the cut. Isn’t that right, Finn?” 

“S’pose so. No more than any other lad.” 

A small smile twisted her lip. 

“No more than any other gypsy,” she corrected, opening one eye to watch him. “Your your father’s son, Finn. You’re not made for the city. The gypsy blood needs air, and sky, and grass to roam. It’s why your father wanders -”

Finn tore his hand from her grasp, snatching his cap up and thrusting it on his head.

“I’m nothing like me dad. He left us because he’s a drunk and a coward.”

“He’s a gypsy trapped in the city.” 

Finn spit, standing up, and ripping back the curtains. 

“Tommy always says you are a crock. Now, I know he’s right.”

Lavania sat back calmy, crossing her arms across her chest and watching Finn’s heaving chest. 

“He said such a thing all those years ago, too. Huffing mad and afraid after coming to me. I can’t change the future, I can only see it.”

“You lie.” 

She stood, slamming her hands on the table and glaring at Finn through her coal-blackened eyes. “You watch who you’re talking to, boy. You might be a Shelby and a Boswell, but I’m no liar.”

Finn could hear his heartbeat pulsating in his ears. 

“You don’t have to be your father, but you aren’t your brothers either, boy.” 

“I’m leaving,” Finn seethed, walking down the stairs into the dampening grass. 

Her voice still filtered through the thick curtains that shut out the light of the vardo, her words slinking down the stairs, and wrapping themselves around Finn’s chest until they suffocated him. 

They stuffed themselves in his ears as he furiously rode home through by the moon-lit sky, kept him awake that night, and sewed themselves into the part of his brain that sits right behind the darkness of his eyes. 

“You’re a Shelby, but you’re no Peaky.”


End file.
